


Peter's Funeral

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Humor, No Angst, One Shot, Short One Shot, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Peter’s upset that he didn’t get a funeral after Derek killed him, the pack makes up for the lost opportunity.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139
Collections: Another Present Under the Tree





	Peter's Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Funeral (Challenge: make it funny, not sad)  
> For @imagine-sterek Another Present Under the Tree (Christmas in July Event).

“All I’m saying is that I’m little disappointed – if not offended – that you buried me without so much as a few kind words,” Peter complained.

“When it comes to you, there are no kind words,” Derek replied.

“You lit me on fire, slit my throat and buried me in a hole under the house,” Peter said, his voice tense. “I think a few words of respect would have been nice, or maybe some flowers.”

Derek levelled him with a look, his face unchanging.

“I’m your _uncle_ ,” Peter protested.

“Oh my god,” Stiles cried out in frustration. “If it means you’ll quit your bitching, we’ll have a funeral for you.”

A twisted smile lit up Peter’s face. “Thank you.”

Stiles muttered something under his breath as he pulled out his phone and sent a message to the pack:

_Peter’s funeral._

_Today, 2pm._

_Derek’s house._

_Dress accordingly._

\- - -

Two o’clock rolled around and the pack arrived at Derek’s house.

Erica was first through the door, dressed in a crushed pale blue crushed velvet shirt with a plunging v-neck and a pair of black denim shorts. She held streamers in her hand and a party horn between her lips, tooting it as she paraded down the hallway. She tossed the streamers about as she made her way through the house.

Boyd followed after her, dressed in a white tee-shirt with bold lettering that read: ‘FUCK YOU’.

Stiles burst out laughing when he saw it.

“Where did you get that?” he asked between fits of laughter.

“I was saving it for this occasion,” Boyd said, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips.

Isaac trailed in after them, looking smug.

They stepped into the living room where Peter sat in an arm chair, a bunch of candles sitting on the coffee table in front of him and a jaded expression on his face.

“I thought you were dead,” Erica said, pouting.

“It’s alright, we’ll rectify that soon enough,” Boyd dismissed.

Lydia was the next to arrive. She wore a floral dress, the white fabric covered in blooming roses, peonies and deep green leaves. The outfit was complimented by a pair of high-heeled beige ankle boots.

She carried a bouquet of flowers into the lounge room, stepping over to Peter’s side.

“Are they for me?” Peter said, a hint of hopefulness and joy in his voice.

“Geraniums for stupidity, foxglove for insincerity, meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations for disappointment, and orange lilies for hatred.” She held out the bouquet of flowers to him, flashing a delighted smile.

The smile fell from Peter’s face.

Allison and Scott arrived next, wearing party hats and carrying drinks.

Derek lingered in the doorway of the lounge room, bowing his head as he tried to hide his smile.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing, dear nephew,” Peter seethed.

“You’re the one who wanted a funeral,” Derek said, struggling to smother his laughter.

Once the pack were all gathered in the lounge room, Stiles began the obituary—although, it was more like a roast.

After that, each of them took turns in saying a few words about the ‘deceased’ while Peter sat in the armchair, silent, glowering, and glaring at each of them.

Once they were done, Stiles stepped forward and picked up one of the candles, concluding the ceremony. "As we snuff these candles so too do we snuff you from this mortal world, you fucking wimp.”

Derek and Boyd snorted as they struggled to smother their laughter.

Peter opened his mouth to object, but before he could Erica grabbed the remote off the coffee table and started blasting music through the speakers in the lounge room.

Peter let out a heavy sigh, his face twisted into a pout as he sat back in the armchair. He folded his arms over his chest, watching as the pack began to dance about the lounge room, celebrating his death.

After a few minutes, Peter got out of his chair and made his way through the open doorway into the kitchen.

Derek followed him, stepping over to his uncle’s side.

“Enjoying yourself?” Derek asked, trying to hide a smug smile.

“You know what? Yes, I am.”

Derek expected his uncle to be joking, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm or humour in his voice.

“I want to be upset, but I guess I’m just glad to see them so happy,” he said, watching fondly as the pack mingled in the other room. He opened a bottle, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip.

Derek looked over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen them smile like that for a while.”

“It’s a nice change,” Peter agreed.

Derek let out a sigh and turned back to Peter. “When I was younger you were not only my uncle but my friend,” he said. “And while you have changed over the years, if you were to die, I would miss you. I wouldn’t miss the man you are now, but I’d remember you as the uncle I had all those years ago, the man who taught me how to ride my bike, who would build pillow forts with me and Laura. I’d miss you.”

Peter opened another bottle, passing it to Derek.

“To who I was,” Peter said, holding his drink up.

Derek picked up the bottle, toasting his uncle.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
